


Joi Eternal

by atomwalker



Category: Blade Runner (Movies)
Genre: F/M, Fix-It, Mention of Death, Suicidal Thoughts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-29
Updated: 2018-03-29
Packaged: 2019-04-14 08:19:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 973
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14131992
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/atomwalker/pseuds/atomwalker
Summary: After the events of 2049, K receives a gift.





	Joi Eternal

He thought about killing himself.

Not often, but the urge crept through now and then. He wasn't sure he could if he tried.

It had been four weeks since he pulled himself up from the steps and walked away from Deckard, left him to be with this daughter. Life had been slow since then. No assignments, just daily clock-ins at the station. He wasn't sure how he was passing his baselines. He didn't feel like he should be, but he was; did that mean everything was normal? It didn't feel normal.

Not without her.

Part of him died when Luv crushed her under that black heel. He didn't have time to mourn, just to run and keep running. When he saw her again, every hateful, vitriolic one-liner he had at the bottom of his throat fell away as he held her under the water, away from Deckard. It was policy (his, anyway) to never show his hand to anyone; even as Luv clawed and grabbed desperately at him, his face remained stoic as he felt at ease with the prospect of revenge. But when Luv stopped moving, his heart started beating normally again and he realized that he'd solved nothing.

When he finally made it back to his apartment the morning after, it felt dead. No movement of a dress as she twirled over to him, doing her best to emulate the act of gently taking his hand and leading him over to the couch for some rest. He sat there for a long, long while, on that sofa. The ceiling became a familiar friend.

But not as friendly as her.

That was four weeks ago.

For over a month, he felt dead. He still does, and no amount of work (even if there was any) could fix him. The thought of placing his gun in his mouth felt amiable again; so much so, that it almost distracted him from the knock at the door.  
Immediately lunging from the sofa, he slinked along the floor until he was almost eye-to-eye with the peephole; before he could lay eyes on the visitor, the mail slot opened and a small package fell through. Momentarily distracted, he heard footsteps hurrying away. Deciding the visitor was not of the utmost importance (given their exit), he instead looked down and handled the package. His mental forensic toolbox opened, and he began to do his job.

The package was light. Synthetic paper, but not the cheap kind; this came from an office of some kind. The off-white coloration contrasted a Wallace Corp. logo on the postmarking. An immediate chill went up his spine; Niander Wallace would likely not forgive the destruction of his prized replicant so easily. Despite the obvious implications that Wallace had found him, he knew that the package couldn't be a bomb; again, far too light to carry an explosive. A poison or neurotoxin would be impractical; he wasn't human enough to be harmed by such a thing, and collateral damage was likely in an apartment block. The more he read into the package, the more he realized curiosity was quickly overtaking him. Returning to the sofa, he took a deep breath, and broke the seal.

Emptying the contents of the envelope onto the coffee table, a small white postcard and a black stick fell the surface with an appropriately small noise. His heart jumped in an odd direction when he realized the black stick was an emanator; Wallace was rubbing salt in the wound. Taking the postcard into his hands, he flipped it over to see elegant handwriting.

 _'My deepest apologies. I hope this finds you well; I'm eager to see what she remembers.'_ Beneath, it was signed _'N. Wallace'_.

What was this? Some sort of cruel, hateful joke?

Taking the emantor into his hands, he ran a calloused thumb along it, and the stick came to life, synchronizing with the rails in his ceiling. A familiar voice echoed through the room, and his heart stopped.

"Service interrupted. Restoring service from stored cloud data."

Suddenly, she was there.

She looked confused, scared. It took her a moment to get her bearings, before laying eyes on him.

"Is this real?" She asked. He felt speechless, slowly standing and stepping away from the sofa to get a closer look at her. He felt like any second, he was going to wake up and be standing in front of the baseline machine. She still looked scared, like she was thinking the same thing he was; this couldn't be happening. Unable to find his voice, he only nodded. She reached up to cup his face, but realized her hands were shaking; the projection occasionally clipped and phased into his face, but he didn't care. Their faces were inches apart, and it felt like years since they'd been like this. He was still expecting to wake up.

"You got away?" She asked. He nodded again, taking a moment to close his mouth, which had slowly fallen open. "I was so scared, K-" She paused. "Joe. I was afraid. I thought she was going to kill you."

He shook his head, taking a deep breath and forcing out his thoughts.

"She's never going to hurt either of us ever again," He said, his voice barely a whisper. He felt his eyes tighten when he saw tears well up in her eyes.

"Joe, I'm so-" She stopped, stepping back to seat herself on the coffee table. She couldn't stop crying. He knew he couldn't cry, even if he wanted to, but he took a knee and brought his hand close to her head. She detected his close proximity to her and looked up, digitally wiping the tears from her eyes with an earnest smile. "I'm glad that you're okay."

He felt tears running down his cheek.

"The feeling's mutual. Are you hungry?"

**Author's Note:**

> Should this be turned into a lengthier epilogue of the film itself? Leave your thoughts below.


End file.
